Severus swept down the hallway towards Harry’s door. He slowed to a stop half way, certain Harry would hear him coming, and nothing meant trouble to a young boy more than the sound of heavy footsteps approaching his room, especially this boy, who was used to such footsteps being the prequel to a beating.

He continued down the hall, making an effort to tread softly, and as he neared the door, he could hear the soft, trembling voice of the boy murmuring faintly, then the sound of a trunk slamming shut.

He knocked, and there was a long stretch of silence before Severus finally turned the handle, the door swinging open to reveal an empty room.

The sound of running water caught his ears, and he glanced at the bathroom door, which was shut, steam seeping out into the bedroom, and he walked over to the door and knocked loudly.

“Potter?” He called, his hand moving to the handle, realizing the boy had locked him out as the warm knob refused to yield under his grip.

“I’m just having a shower, Sir!” Came the hesitant reply, though Severus could recognize the signs of a stall tactic anywhere, having been at the receiving end of countless student's attempts to delay inevitable punishments.

Sighing in resignation, Snape walked over to the chair, which was still sitting close to the bed, and sat down, satisfied to allow the boy a few moments before the emotional upheaval which was sure to occur once he admitted to the horrendous treatment at the hands of his family. He sat quietly, absentmindedly rolling a tiny shred of white lint across his knee, the dark fabric rippling under his fingers. He shifted his eyes to the bathroom door, wondering how frantic the child inside must be. Severus knew all too well the deafening roar of a panicked heartbeat, innards twisting in anxiety; the dull, cavernous feeling inside one’s belly at the anticipation of what was to come. Those feelings had plagued him in his youth, as well as during his service to Voldemort, though in his entire life he had never felt the sensation that leached into him as he waded through Harry’s mind. It was like drowning. Suffocating in hatred.

He rubbed a pair of slender fingers against his left temple and closed his eyes. In less than a week, his view of Harry Potter had gone from utter contempt, to shock and sympathy. Whether he was capable of complete compassion towards the boy remained to be seen, however. A brief touch of a hand or an arm hesitantly draped over a shoulder were hardly enough of a gesture to warrant complete trust, and yet admitting the torture he had suffered under his relatives would take more trust than Harry had likely ever known, and certainly more trust than a snarky git of a potion's professor had earned in four days. He checked his watch. Almost twenty minutes had passed since he entered Harry’s room, and the drone of the shower seemed as steady as ever. Stall tactic or not, the boy had spent quite enough time wallowing. Severus stood slowly, watching the scrap of tiny white fluff fall leisurely to the floor.

It was time.

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Harry sat in the corner of the bathroom, his back pressed tightly against the wall, as if crushing himself completely against the cool tile would make him less visible. The room was thick with steam from the shower, which had been running at full force for a while now, though Harry had not even moved from his spot since retreating to it after the Professor had knocked on his door.

His stomach felt vile. The predictable queasiness that came from being so utterly afraid was churning, lurching in his gut. The Professor was going to be so angry at him. First, for running away and secondly, for finding out the horrible secrets he’d been keeping about the Durlseys.

He rubbed his eyes with his fists, taking a deep breath, trying to force back the tears that threatened to escape. It was so stupid to cry, he told himself, crushing a fist against the floor, hoping the pain of his knuckles roughly pressed against the hard tile would distract him from the twisting grief in his gut. He winced as several joints cracked under the weight, and he focused on the pain, lifting his fist off the floor and pounding it back down against the tiles, each time recoiling as pain flashed across his hand. He wouldn’t let himself cry, he wouldn’t be weak. He would take it like a freak should; silent, without tears, without protest.

A few minutes later, the pain in his hand almost blinding, he let his head fall back against the wall, pulling his hands into his lap and breathing heavily. Though a crude way to deal with his overwhelming emotions, it had worked. He didn’t feel like crying anymore. In fact, other than the intense aching that arched from his fingers to his wrist, he didn’t feel much of anything.

He sat unmoving, his breaths labored in the heavy, wet air of the steamy room, knowing that sooner or later the Professor was going to come through the door and force him to continue the discussion from earlier. Why on earth was Snape torturing him with this? Why couldn’t he just go back to hating him, back to ignoring him, back to not giving a damn? Things were so much easier when no one cared, and as desperate as he was to escape the horror of the Dursley’s, he knew no one could help him. Uncle Vernon had been sure to tell him what would happen if Harry ever spoke to anyone of what happened within the confines of Number Four, Privet Drive, and he’d listed in chilling detail the punishments that would await the boy upon his eventual arrival back home.

But, as frantic as he’d felt when Snape had confronted him, he was even more terrified of admitting it out loud. It wasn’t like when he told Ron and Hermione. He knew they wouldn’t tell anyone his secrets; they’d promised, even though Harry had a sneaking suspicion that if he’d really told them the whole truth, Hermione would have run straight to the nearest teacher. It was so much more horrible that the Professor knew, because adults didn’t make promises about keeping secrets like Harry’s.

The sound of Snape’s voice startled him, and seconds later, the bathroom door opened and the Professor came into view, wand drawn from a muttered Alohamora, barely visible through the steam as he stared at the curtain around the claw-footed tub. He turned and pushed the door fully open, returning his wand to his robes, the vapor beginning to dissipate as the cool currents swept into the sweltering bathroom.

“Potter!” He called over the hammering of water against the bone coloured porcelain. “Potter, you’ve been in there long enough.”

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, as the last of the haze finally petered out, he caught sight of the boy pushed into the corner of the room, his knees pulled to his chest, a hand held gingerly in front of him. He frowned as Harry clambered to his feet, noticing the caution with which he rose, using his elbow to steady himself against the slippery tile wall. Severus’ eyes moved to the boy’s left hand, which looked a fierce shade of red, with a dull, blue, bruising evident across the meat of his fingers.

Forcing indifference, Severus pulled back the shower curtain and turned off the tap. He walked to the sink and filled the basin with cold water before turning back to Harry and extending a hand. He locked eyes with the boy, the fear and misery evident in that pale face, causing Severus to narrow his own eyes in resolve, all the more determined to purge the suffering from the child like poison from a wound. They stood for what felt like an eternity, Severus never lowering his arm, his fingers twitching faintly, ready to gently take the boy’s injured hand as soon as it was offered, knowing how hard it was for Harry to allow the gesture of attention, and finally the warm flesh brushed against his fingertips, and his slender fingers curled around the boy’s wrist. He slowly drew Harry to his side and immersed the swelling hand into the water.

Harry hissed in pain as his hand dipped into the frigid liquid, but after a moment, the ache began to recede, and he allowed himself to relax slightly. Snape pulled Harry’s hand from the water and laid it on the hand towel, pressing the cloth against the trembling fingers.

“Do not move from this spot,” he said, inflicting enough severity into his voice to be sure the boy wouldn’t think of disobeying him.

Harry nodded, his eyes cast to the floor as the Professor left the bathroom, returning a minute later holding a small jar, which he opened, dabbing two fingers into the stark white ointment and spreading it across the back of Harry’s fingers and palm with a tenderness that surprised them both.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology was scarcely a whisper, barely even breathed, and Severus paused momentarily before his own equally hushed reply was given.

“I know.”

He finished the application of the salve, noticing the bruising and swelling were already quite diminished, and taking Harry’s upper arm, he led the boy out of the bathroom, and steered him towards the bed before taking his seat again in the chair, watching as Harry’s forlorn stare once again fell to his hands, which took their usual place, clenched in the boy’s lap.

“This ends now,” he said softly, seeing the tension flood into the boy’s shoulders, the tendons in his neck tightening, hands flinching uncontrollably as anxiety washed over him.

Harry held back a sob, biting down so hard on his bottom lip he felt as if he’d sink his teeth right through the flesh. His body shook as he forced the emotion back down. Snape knew everything, every beating, every slap, every unkind word. All he had to do was to get Harry to admit it, and he’d go straight to the Headmaster, and Dumbledore would go right to the authorities, and they’d go straight to Uncle Vernon. A tiny, pitiful moan escaped from deep within his chest, and he swallowed hard, noticing the Professor’s eyes narrow at the sound, and Harry ran the back of his hand across his mouth, feeling the jagged dryness of his lips and realizing how thirsty he was.

“Where would you like to begin?” Came the Professor’s calm voice, and Harry crushed his hands together even tighter, pressing against the still tender knuckles, squeezing the fingers together painfully. He had to feel something other than fear, and pain was easily accessible.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he lifted his head and said the only thing he could think of to save himself.

“Nothing happened,” he said defiantly, his voice sounding much more controlled than he felt.

“Harry,” Snape warned in a firm tone, reaching out to rescue the boy’s injured hand, but Harry was up off the bed in a flash, and Severus stood just as quickly, taking several swift steps back to place himself between Harry and the bedroom door. The boy stopped, all colour draining from his face as he stood trapped, his hands clenching and unclenching as he stared at the Professor desperately.

“Why can’t you just leave it alone?” Harry pleaded, eliciting a grim look from the Professor. “Why can’t you just pretend you didn’t see?

Snape took in the heartbreaking gaze. This child couldn’t even comprehend someone caring enough to help him. For so long he’d been told he was nothing, less than human, a waste. How little the boy thought of himself now, and how little he valued his own worth.

“I can’t leave it alone, Harry. You know I can’t,” he replied.

“I’ll lie,” Harry spluttered, his mind a whirl, frantic now for anything that would persuade the Professor to drop the issue. “If you tell anyone, I’ll say you made it up!”

“Legilimency does not lie,” Snape replied. “Do you honest –”

“And what are you doing using that on me?” Harry cut in, his voice rising not only in decibel, but in tone, as his chest tightened fearfully. It was hard to breathe, hard to think. “It’s none of your business what’s in here!” He cried, reaching up and pressing two trembling fingers against his brow, cringing at the headache that was blooming behind his skull. He slipped the hand to this throat, rubbing hard at the flesh that seemed to be constricting, crushing his ability to inhale.

Severus sighed. He was getting nowhere. At each turn, he was met with opposition as years of careful suppression kept the boy from admitting any harm against him. He had admitted the nightmares, however, and Snape recalled the tiny scrap of trust Harry had allowed him that night. What the Professor was asking him to admit now was a thousand times more arduous a task than simply acknowledging nightmares. He was asking him to confess a lifetime of abuse. It was impractical to expect no resistance.

“Harry, surely you must know why I’m doing this?” He asked. “Is it so hard to believe that someone would care about you enough to take you away from that kind of treatment?”

“You don’t care about me,” Harry replied, his voice warbling with trepidation. He was trying so hard to be angry over the invasion of his mind. Anger was easier to control than fear. Anger could turn the tide of the discussion away from his abuse, towards the Professor, towards anything other than what he had witnessed inside Harry’s mind.

“If you cared, you’d let me go right now! You’ve got no right to –”

“Enough., Snape announced, desperately trying not to snarl the word at the boy. “I am trying, Pot…Harry. I am quite aware of your unease regarding this discussion, and I daresay someone with fewer tendencies towards exasperation would do better in this situation than I; however, your attempts to delay this conversation are at an end, do you understand?”

“I need to leave,” Harry said suddenly, taking another step towards the man, and the Professor moved backwards until he was against the door, his eyes locked with Harry’s.

“No,” Severus said gently, seeing the boy’s thin frame shudder in panic as his breathing quickened, barely able to stand the confinement that his teacher had forced upon him.

“Let me out!” Harry shouted, trying to sound outraged, but the fear had crept into his voice again making him sound flustered and frantic.

“I will let you out,” Snape said carefully, his piercing gaze holding Harry’s attention., “if you can give me one reason why your family would want you back.”

Harry froze, the fear in his eyes replaced by curiosity as he took in the Professor’s statement.

“Just one reason,” Snape continued. “One plausible reason why I should allow you to return. If you can tell me, I’ll let you out of here and never speak about it again.”

The room fell into silence.

“I…..they…” Harry’s voice faltered, his mind racing as he searched for a single thing the Dursley’s had done to him in his life that didn’t involve violence or hatred.

“They want me…..they –“

“Nice try,” Snape cut in, his voice growing louder, seeing Harry flinch and feeling sickened by it, but knowing this had to be done. It was just like the first night at the manor, the night he’d forced the boy to take the Dreamless Sleep potion. It was cruel to use the boy’s forced complacency against him, but Harry had to admit the abuse. “If you mean they want you to starve and neglect, then yes, you are correct, but hardly a valid reason to return to their presence, if you ask me. Try again,” he snapped.

“They’re my family,” Harry replied. He was near tears now, face gleaming with perspiration “The blood protection, it keeps me safe from –“

“From you uncle’s thrashings?” Snape barked. “From the daily slaps and verbal attacks that I saw heaped on you? Protection from Voldemort can be bestowed in more ways than just blood protection, Potter. If you think you’ll live to see an appropriate age at which you can defeat the Dark Lord by living with those revolting people, you are sadly mistaken!”

“Stop it,” Harry whispered, his voice as small and pitiful as Snape had ever heard. He was close, Severus could feel it.

“Come on, Potter, an hour ago you were begging me not to send you home, and now, all of a sudden, you’re threatening to lie in order to return to their care. Obviously there’s something I’m missing. Clearly there are a dozen reasons why you’d be wanted there. Pick one!”

“Stop, please.” The plea was hardly a whisper, the words barely even able to be spoken as the boy’s breath hitched in his throat. He was breaking.

“How about your uncle?” Snape continued, scathingly. “I can certainly see why you’d want to return to his loving arms. Or your aunt, perhaps? What a divine woman she seemed. Or maybe that obese cousin of yours? He appeared to be a jolly little fellow. I can’t imagine how you can bear to be apart from their love, Potter, so with all the charming family members at your disposal, how about we pack your things right now and I’ll return you to your delightful home myself!” He roared.

“No!” Harry shouted.

“Why?” The Professor yelled back, his heart beating violently in his chest.

“Because they hate me!” Harry screamed.

The words were hurled at Severus, primitive and raw, laced with grief, and the boy’s face fell into his hands, choking on a sob, swallowing hard against the overwhelming urge to cry.

Severus closed his eyes, relief washing over him at hearing the admission. For the first time, Harry had given reason to the horror he had endured. All that was left now was for the boy to release the grief and shame he’d been holding onto for so many years.

The emotion of love was foreign to Severus, but maybe, somewhere in the depths of his soul, underneath the corruption and darkness, he could remember what it was like to love and to be loved. Just maybe he could dredge enough of it from so far inside that he’d long forgotten the sensation, and convey to the boy that he was capable of trusting.

He took a step closer to the distressed child and for the first time, Harry didn’t shrink back, though his head shot up at seeing the man inch towards him. His eyes locked with the Professors, wild with unleashed emotion.

“Harry, I know the pain seems too much to bear. I know the desperation feels like it can swallow you whole; that it will overwhelm you. Trust me, I know.”

“I didn’t want to say it,” Harry said roughly, his voice stumbling over a held back sob. “I hate you for making me say it.”

“I know.”

Harry’s lower lip quivered as he dropped his eyes to the floor, tears slipping down his flushed cheeks.

“This can all end, Harry, this madness you’ve been living in. You’ve spent the last few days hiding, and I apologize for not seeing it sooner, but it can end, it will end. You’re so close,” Severus said quietly. “There’s just one more thing you need to do.”

He paused, wishing he could reach out and lift the boy’s head so he could witness the sincerity with which he spoke the next words.

“Trust me, Harry.”

He took another small step, closing the distance between them, thankful that Harry didn’t make his usual retreat.

“I will not let you go,” he whispered in a voice so quiet he doubted Harry even heard it, but suddenly the boy’s eyes flickered, and he slowly lifted his head, allowing his emerald eyes to meet Snape’s dark stare.

Agonizing seconds passed as they simply stared at each other, the potion's master silently begging Harry to give in. Time seemed to stop, the child’s slender frame quivering in anguish, the tears coming freely now, his breaths turning to choppy gasps for air.

Slowly, Severus raised his arms, and with a whimper, Harry fell into them, wrapping his own around the man’s waist, burying his face into the cool cloth of Snape’s robes. He felt Severus’ strong arms curl around him, pulling him into a hug, and finally, without the fear of reprisal, or pain, Harry closed his eyes and allowed the release he’d needed for so long. Great heaving sobs wracked his body as the misery and anguish of twelve years of cruelty flooded out of him in one colossal landslide of emotion; and amid the tears, he heard the Professor’s voice thanking him over and over.

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It was a lifetime later when Harry finally pulled back from his position against Severus’ chest, eyes glistening and red from crying. He had cried forever, gripping the Professor’s robes like a lifeline as he sobbed with fervor into the blackness of Snape’s shirt.

“You won’t let them take me?” He sniffled, unable to see the man’s reaction through his tears.

His head fell against the broad chest once again, and he felt Snape’s hand land on his back, the other resting on the back of his head, fingers tangled in the messy crop of hair.

“I will never allow that,” came the firm reply.

He stood for as long as the boy needed to, and it was a short time later, after standing in the quiet, listening as Harry’s shuddering pants relaxed into the silence, when Harry allowed his hands to fall from the Professor’s robes. He rubbed at his eyes, taking a few weary steps back and wiping his palms across his face before letting out a heavy breath.

“Come,” Severus instructed in his usual no-nonsense tone as he replaced his hand on the boy’s back. “A real shower this time, please.”

Harry nodded weakly and walked into the bathroom to change, though Snape noticed his shoulders did not slump as usual, though it may well have been a coincidence.

There was a light knock at the door, and at hearing no response from her master, Della’s nut brown head appeared. She slipped into the room and glanced at Snape, who was staring thoughtfully at the closed bathroom door. She took a few meek steps forward and tugged gently on the hem of the Professor’s robe.

“Misters Russer and Russer are being contacting you, Master,” she squeaked as Snape’s tired eyes looked down at her. “They are being wondering how little master is, Sir.”

Snape paused.

“Ask them for dinner,” he instructed, knowing that the last thing Harry needed was a quiet evening to dwell on the past. Revelations would come in time, when the boy was ready. Della nodded quickly, padding towards the open door, looking back over her shoulder quickly before pulling it closed behind her.

Snape waited patiently for Harry to return from the bathroom, and it was within an acceptable period this time when the door creaked open and Harry stepped out, flushed and damp haired. He hesitated a moment, offering the Professor a nervous half smile, and Severus reached out a hand, gently tugging to boy to him and allowing Harry to once more lean against his chest in quiet relief. He would not permit the child to think that comfort was only offered upon the admission of secrets or as a reward for compliance. Reassurance would be given whenever Harry needed or wanted it, and not used as a bribe, nor withheld as punishment.

“Harry,” he said carefully, smoothing the boy’s disorderly hair.

“Yes, Sir?” Harry whispered against the darkness. His head was swimming painfully, and his face felt strange, overly warm and sensitive from crying. He forced himself to stop from trembling, though he was sure the Professor could feel it anyway, and nervously lifted a small hand to his cheek and pressed against the man’s soft robe. He felt the soft, rhythmic beating of Snape’s heart.

Yes. This was real.

It seemed so abnormal, allowing the small measure of contentment in a lifetime that lacked any solace at all. Harry closed his eyes as tightly as he could, hoping to God this wasn’t a dream. His heart didn’t clench so tightly now, and tolerating the close contact was less difficult than before, though his body still felt wired and edgy.

He felt the Professor take him by the shoulders, forcing him to take a step backwards where he could better see his face.

“Ernie and Craig will be our dinner guests,” he said, and Harry nodded, remembering the remarkably happy man from their encounter in town. “It was Craig, Ernie’s brother, who found you yesterday.”

Harry’s cheeks took on an even more flushed appearance that had little to do with the heat from the bathroom.

“You owe him your gratitude,” Snape finished, seeing the boy’s embarrassment. Harry nodded mutely.

“Also,” the Professor paused, and Harry’s eyes flashed with worry as Snape stared down at him with a concerned look. “There will be no Dreamless Sleep tonight.”

He felt Harry’s shoulders stiffen immediately, and he tightened his grip on the boy.

“But why?” Harry gasped, shrugging the Professors hands off his shoulders and taking a jerky step back. “What did I do?” He pleaded, eyes brimming with tears. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry!”

Severus sighed. Harry’s reaction was typical for one so horrible tortured by refusal of care and attention, heaping every imaginable guilt upon himself until little room for self-forgiveness remained.

“Harry, this is not a punishment,” he declared, stepping forward and taking the distraught boy by the arm, allowing the thin limb to slide across his palm until Harry’s hand slipped into his own. He wrapped his slender fingers around the small hand and pulled Harry gently towards him before returning his hands to the quivering shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he instructed, though Harry’s head remained bowed, and Severus moved his hand under the boy’s chin and with little force, tilted Harry’s head until the glistening eyes met with his own. “This is not a punishment,” Snape repeated, quickly moving the hand and placing a single finger against the boy’s lips before Harry could respond with another series of pleas. “Hush,” he said firmly before clamping the hand back on Harry’s shoulder and continuing with his explanation. “Dreamless Sleep should not be given on more than two consecutive occasions, and never more than twice a week. You have already been given the draught twice within the last five days, thus it would be hazardous for you to consume any more.”

“But….couldn’t I just have it once more?” Harry asked in a small, fearful tone. “Just once?”

“No,” Snape affirmed, shaking his head. “Side effects are numerous and unpleasant,” he replied, being sure to use heavy emphasis on the last description.

“But I –“

“I will not leave you alone,” Severus declared softly, silencing the boy with his interruption and feeling a shudder ripple through Harry’s body. “I will stay with you, Harry. We will see the night through together.” He gently drew the trembling boy to his chest, dropping his hands so they rested against the boy’s back as he repeated the promise he’d made earlier.

“I will not let you go.”

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Dinner was a light affair. Della served a chicken and vegetable dish, and Severus stole multiple glances at Harry throughout the course of the evening, noticing the boy still ate little, but daring to suppose that what he did consume was more than he’d been able to over the past few days. He frowned as Harry pushed his carrots around his plate, reaching out and nudging the boy on the arm, earning a pleading look, which he ignored before turning back to a conversation with Craig about his new position at the Ministry of Magic. Harry had sighed, though he made a concerted effort to nibble at one of the orange slivers before pushing his plate away in earnest.

After eating, they retired to the sitting room, where Ernie held Harry’s rapt attention with the chronicles of his and Snape’s time at Hogwarts.

“Then there was the time we all had to take a Cornish Pixie overnight,” Ernie giggled, casting a cheeky grin at Snape, who was glaring at him now. Harry sat upright, a small smile of anticipation on his face as the little man continued.

“We were supposed to observe the ritual the horrid little things have. On the eve of each full moon, at the stroke of midnight, they shed their hides, which is the main ingredient in a skin softening potion. We were asked to collect the hides for the next day’s class.”

Harry nodded, his eyes shining excitedly. He heard the Professor let out a barely audible sigh next to him.

“It was the first time a student ever brought their pixie back in a catatonic state!” Ernie exclaimed, his voice warbling to an even higher decibel as he burst into giggles yet again, slapping his knee as his tiny body shook in hysterics.

“It was not catatonic!” Severus retorted, bringing his mug to his lips. “It was merely the victim of severe fatigue,” he finished coolly, taking a long drink of coffee.

“Fatigue?” Ernie squeaked. “We heard from a student, who had been in the infirmary at the time, that Madame Pomfrey used six pepper up potions to get the poor thing to regain consciousness!” He leaned towards Harry, his voice dropping to a mysterious whisper.

“Students speculated for months about what Severus did to it. We never did find out.”

Snape snorted from behind his coffee cup, and Harry’s eyes grew wide as he turned his stare to the Professor.

“Ernie is far too prone to embellishment when it comes to accounts of our youth,” he stated, giving his friend a sharp look.

“In short,” he continued, staring down at Harry, who was now looking close to laughter, “the dwarf lies.”

Severus felt a slight satisfaction at seeing Harry break into a brief, awkward smile. It was fleeting, barely the ghost of a grin, but it was genuine.

At least the boy is starting to allow himself to feel happiness, he thought.

“Hey!” Craig said suddenly from across the room. “What about that story you used to tell me, Ernie, the one about you and Severus sneaking into Professor Dumbledore’s office and turning his lemon drops into – ”

“I do believe it is time for Harry to prepare himself for bed,” Snape interrupted, narrowing his eyes at Craig before reaching out and tapping Harry on the arm. “Say goodnight to our guests, Potter, and thank them for their amusing fairy-tales.”

The look that crossed Harry’s face clearly expressed his disappointment at being denied another anecdote, though Severus guessed it was more from his reluctance to face the night rather than miss out on conversation, but Harry stood obediently and thanked Ernie and Craig before being ushered out of the room and upstairs by Della.

Ernie slipped to the floor and accio’d his cloak.

“Thank you for dinner, Severus.” He smiled as he slipped the tiny cape around his shoulders. “And thank you for not hexing me for that pixie story,” he finished, breaking into giggles. He reached out and swatted at Snape’s hand, which was reaching for his wand in mock threat.

“What did you do to it anyway?” Craig asked as he lifted his heavy jacket from the coat rack.

Snape smirked wickedly.

“I could demonstrate for you,” he replied in a perilous voice, turning his eyes from Craig to Ernie. “On your brother.”

Craig chuckled, smiling broadly at his tiny brother, who had broken into laughter. Really, Ernie seemed to be in a state of amusement almost constantly.

“Oh, Severus,” Ernie managed to shriek between giggles. “Threats like that make me glad I’m a more powerful wizard than you.”

Snape rolled his eyes as he led the two men over to the fireplace.

“How is your dissertation coming along, Severus?” Ernie asked as he stepped up onto the hearth.

“Completed, of course.” Snape replied briskly. “Though due to recent events, I am unsure if I shall be available for the convention.”

“What?” Ernie shrieked, clearly shocked. “Severus, this is the first time the discussion of Acromantula has been permitted by the Ministry. What on earth is so importa –” He stopped abruptly as he saw the change in Severus’ eyes that clearly answered his question.

“You want to stay with Harry, don’t you?” Ernie asked, smiling.

“I would prefer to, yes,” Snape replied, ignoring the overly maudlin grin his friend was giving him. “He is fragile, emotionally. The child suffers from nightmares. It would be unwise to leave him overnight until he is calmer.”

“Well, I could stay,” Craig broke in, looking at Severus keenly. “He seems like a nice kid, and I wouldn’t mind hanging out with him for a few days.”

Snape nodded.

“If, within a suitable amount of time, the boy is able to remain overnight unattended, I may accept the offer,” he replied, and Craig nodded.

“Splendid!” Ernie cried, slapping Snape on the knee. “I do hope you can attend, Severus. Otherwise, I’d have to give your speech, and then I’d end up on the cover of Potion's Monthly, and I’d hate to see you sink into depression over that!” Snape rolled his eyes again as Ernie chuckled and took Craig’s hand.

“Take your delusional brother home,” Snape ordered Craig in a severe tone, and after saying their goodbyes, he stood back and watched the men disappear in a cloud of smoke.

Della popped into the living room and bowed, her forehead making a soft thudding sound as it knocked against the floor. She lifted her head and frowned, rubbing at her leathery brow as the Professor again rolled his eyes.

“Little master is in the shower,” she reported.

“How did he seem?” Snape asked, knowing that the boy had done his best to hide his anxiety throughout the evening, though he was sure Harry did enjoy Ernie’s stories, and Severus was content to bear the brunt of his friend’s humiliating yarns if it brought the child a few hours of pleasure.

Della cocked her head, her ears drooping.

“Little master is not looking forward to being sleeping,” she said quietly, twisting her fingers together as she peered into her master’s eyes.

“No, I would think not,” he murmured, not having a single idea how he was going to get Harry through the night without the potion.

Suddenly, Della’s seemingly insignificant report on the boy’s whereabouts dawned on him.

“He’s in the shower?” He asked.

Della’s head bobbed in affirmation.

“Little master was asking for Della to leave, because little master is needing to shower,” she replied.

“Blast!” Severus exclaimed, startling Della so fiercely that she threw her hands up in alarm. “Della, to his room, immediately,” he barked as he began a swift pace across the living room. Della was gone in an instant and Snape continued up the stairs, taking them two at a time, meeting Della in the hall, her eyes wide as she came scampering out of Harry’s bedroom.

“Little master is not being in his room!” she cried. “Little master’s shower is being running, but no little master inside!”

Severus strode past the little elf, pushing Harry’s bedroom door open with a bang, his eyes darting to the windows, which were closed. The boy didn’t go gallivanting out onto the roof then, he thought, relieved that Harry had enough sense not to try another escape.

Pursing his lips in annoyance, he walked quickly out into the hallway, intending to search every room on the top floor, but after a few brisk steps he slowed to a stop, lowering his head to rub at the deep furrow between his eyes as he realized exactly where Harry had gone.

He raised his head and pulled his wand from within his robes.

“Lumos.”

There, a few feet down the hall, almost unnoticeable in the low light, was the heavy stone door of the potions lab sitting slightly ajar.